In the words of Lady Gaga, “I don’t wanna be friends.” We’re not matching friends. If you want friendship, join a bridge group. We’re making romance. There’s no friendship in romance. Sure, later on, when you’re discussing mortgages, college funds, and where to go to dinner, then a little friendship goes along way. But it comes later. Now, it’s romance. Don’t know what romance is? Just like porn, you’ll know it when you see it.
Matchmaking Advice from your Grandma Zelda
This book had me laughing. In bed, alone, hubby out-of-town, and I was sitting in my room reading An Affair to Dismember cracking up. My kids think I’m even weirder now than they did before… Anyhoo, An Affair to Dismember has been marketed to fans of Janet Evanovich and Jennifer Crusie, and I would completely agree with that strategy. It reminded me quite a bit of the Stephanie Plum series back when it was really fun to read and before I got so irritated by each book being exactly same that I stopped being interested. It was a quick, easy read full of laugh out loud moments that had me smiling until I read the last page. Then I read the preview for book two and was still smiling.
Gladie Burger is a matchmaker in training. Her Grandma Zelda has talked her into moving back to California and learning the “family business”. So far the family business consists of a bunch of old index cards, a dusty attic and Zelda’s hunches. For a girl who can’t seem to keep a job more than a couple of weeks and never graduated high school, learning how to create love and romance between two people seems a daunting task. She doesn’t know if she really even wants to be a matchmaker.
When the man across the street dies, Gladie meets his completely jacked up, dysfunctional family and immediately suspects foul play. It seems she is more interested in solving what she is convinced is a murder rather than bringing love birds together. During her investigation she is surrounded by a ragtag bunch of characters including her mysterious new next door neighbor Holden, the playboy Chief of Police Spencer, her two, completely opposite best friends, one of which never met a protest she didn’t like and the other who never met a man she didn’t want to get naked. The secondary characters are what make this book so much fun. Gladie is a mess and has completely lost control of her life. She has no money, no idea how to start finding people to match, two new men in her life that make her drool, a grandmother with a junk food addiction that is rubbing off on her and she keeps getting in strange situations. That’s just for starters.
This book reads like a comedy sitcom. It’s full of bizarre, larger than life characters and over the top situations. I never knew what was going to happen next. Of course there is a sort of love triangle, because no romance, even a semi-romance is complete nowadays without one. Gladie is stuck between her attraction for two men, Spencer and Holden. Her internal dialogue when she’s with each of them is so funny. I really hope this threesome doesn’t go the way of the Stephanie/Morrelli/Ranger never ending, never resolved love triangle. Even though I wouldn’t really categorize this as contemporary romance, more like romantic comedy or chick lit, I would still like to see Gladie pick one guy and stick with him. There is no sex in this book. As a romance reader who relies on wickedness and dirty deeds to enhance my reading pleasure, I would have enjoyed a bit more than kissing. I can only imagine how much fun the sex scenes will be when Gladie finally gets her some.
The mystery was well done and I enjoyed watching Gladie and her sidekicks haphazardly find their way to figuring it out. There were so many too stupid to live moments I just had to shake my head and go with the flow.I will definitely be following this series to see where it goes. I had such a good time reading and occasionally need a little hilarity in between the dark urban fantasies and drama filled contemporaries I usually read. Final Grade: B
“Pinkie,” he said, “make no mistake. I don’t wax, prune, or buff. I’m more the come-as-I-am kind of man. I come natural.”
A tiny droplet of spittle dripped from my mouth. Okay, I wasn’t immune to his charms. But the man was responsible for my false arrest, a bump on my head, and the derailment of my investigation into my neighbor’s death. Besides, Spencer Bolton had a well-known scorched-earth policy when it came to women. He was pure poison to anyone in a dress. He was the Al-Qaeda of penises, and I was determined to never see him naked.
It was a matter of national security.